


How Jeremy Met The Fakes

by Wrespawn



Category: Rooster Teeth/Achievement Hunter RPF
Genre: Fake AH Crew, Gen, Gun Violence, Heist, Stalking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-03
Updated: 2021-03-03
Packaged: 2021-03-16 06:28:54
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,883
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29820807
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Wrespawn/pseuds/Wrespawn
Summary: The respawn verse is getting an overhaul! This is the new canon version of this story. The old version is still available.Jeremy Dooley is a normal civilian in Los Santos until a bank robbery changes his life.Warnings: This story involves an armed bank robbery with hostages.  No one gets killed.  This story is rife with power imbalance, but no one abuses it.  Contains traces of Jeremy being thirsty for other crew members and fainter traces of flirting.This is part of the respawn universe.
Comments: 2
Kudos: 30





	How Jeremy Met The Fakes

The first red flag was a man walking past with a big black bag, but Jeremy didn’t realize it at the time.

The normal sounds of business hours in a bank hummed around him, the murmur of voices and the click of machines. Only twenty people were left between Jeremy and the desk. He stood in line, idly watching a man walk past for lack of anything more exciting to look at. The man wore a rough brown leather jacket with a snarling canine and the words “lone wolf” emblazoned on the back. Jackets like that weren’t uncommon, what with the popularity of the infamous Mogar from the Fake AH Crew, but you didn’t usually see someone ballsy enough to wear it to a bank. 

For a while, Jeremy’s idle gaze was so distracted by the jacket that he didn’t notice the big black bag in the man’s hand. It seemed odder the longer he looked at it.

Jeremy was starting to frown as the man set his bag down in a corner of the bank and began rifling through it. A prickle of uncertainty was itching up his spine. He was starting to wonder where the bank’s security was, and if they were seeing the same thing he was seeing.

Then, the man looked up from his bag. In place of a human face was a pale hockey mask with a bright green star painted across it. Fear dropped into Jeremy’s stomach like a bucket of ice water.

Before he could say anything, a horrible crack of gunfire split the air.

Suddenly there was a swarm of them, materializing out of the screaming crowd like ghosts, all wearing hockey masks with the same venomous green star. Jeremy knew what that star meant. Everyone in Los Santos knew what that star meant. This was the Fake AH Crew.

The man with the lone wolf jacket jumped up on the marble counter and fired his rifle at the ceiling. The shots were thunderously loud, the panicking crowd ducking as shards of the ceiling rained down. 

“You see this? This is a fucking gun!” The man’s voice was a hot snarl through his mask as he paced the counter like an animal, his rifle following the movements of the customers. “It means you do whatever the fuck I say!”

A man in a suit and an identical hockey mask paced by, waving his fingers in a circle. “I want ‘em rounded up like livestock,” he murmured to the man on the counter.

“You heard the boss, on the floor!”

The criminals closed in around the edges of the crowd, herding them into a cluster. Jeremy almost stumbled as a panicking customer jostled him. Anyone who started to break away was urged back to the group with the gentle prod of an assault rifle. Jeremy slipped around the other customers, keeping himself on the edge of the group. He wanted to see what was happening.

“Circle up, little bunnies.” The speaker wore a blood red jacket that matched their long hair, assault rifle resting on their shoulder. It was no wonder to see a venomous animal dressed in bright colors. “Don’t worry, nothing bad is gotta happen. I’ll keep the wolves away.”

Jeremy recognized that outfit and voice from the news, and he knew better than to even think the words  _ she  _ or  _ her  _ in his head. That was the Wildcat, known for their jaw-droppingly gorgeous body and their willingness to take a lit match to anyone who said it dictated their gender. Their breath was eerily audible through the mask, and they moved like a cat that had spotted prey. 

Jeremy’s heart pounded as he gingerly sat on the floor with the other hostages, his wide eyes darting between the different hockey masks. He’d seen the Fakes on the news, but this wasn’t the news. This was  _ nothing _ like the news.

The terrified crowd had settled on the floor in a cluster of shivers and whimpers. The criminals had gone silent, four of them staring at the fifth as though waiting for him to speak. Jeremy’s gaze followed. The man’s suit was expensive and pristine, but the hands that gripped his gun were densely tattooed, more ink peeking out under his sleeves. Jeremy’s heart was racing. If these were the Fakes, then that could only be the Kingpin himself. The big boss.

“Good fucking morning, Los Santos!” The Kingpin let the gun rest against his shoulder. “Are you all having a good Sunday? I sure am! We’re just gonna have a quick little bank robbery today, nothing to worry about! Normal operations should only be down for… oh, Wheels, what’s our timeframe?”

“Ten minutes,” called a woman in a hockey mask and a Hawaiian shirt.

“Only ten? Damn, we work fast.”

“We sure do, boss. Best in the business.”

“Hey!” The man on the counter barked, swinging his gun at the hostages even though no one had made a move. “The boss is talking, shut the fuck up!”

Jeremy flinched against the cold floor as, for just a heartbeat, he stared down the dark barrel of the assault rifle.

“Thanks, Mogar.” The Kingpin nodded. “Golden Boy, gimme one live security cam for a second, would you?”

A slender man wearing a navy suit flicked a phone out of his pocket and began typing on it furiously. Alone among the criminals, his mask was shimmering gold, though it bore the same green star. “Can do, boss.”

The Kingpin directed his gaze up to a corner of the room where a security camera was perched. “Dear bank of—“

“Wrong security cam.”

“Well, which one’s on?”

“One with the red light, you dope.”

The Kingpin lifted his gun and fired a few bullets over the other man’s head. Jeremy jolted along with the rest of the hostages. The man with the golden mask raised a lazy middle finger in response, then pointed to a different camera. With a sigh, the Kingpin turned to the correct camera.

“Dear rich fucking bank people: we’re gonna take a chunk of your money. If I see a damn thing on the news about you refusing to let your customers withdraw from their accounts because there’s no money left, we’re gonna rob you again. We know how much money you have.”

The criminal with the red jacket made an impressed noise. “Looking out for the little man. Philanthropic, that’s our Kingpin.”

The Kingpin shrugged. “If there’s a run on the banks, the economy crashes, and next thing you know a bag of potato chips is twenty dollars. I’m just keeping things stable.” He pointed his gun at the camera. “You got that? I’m robbing you, not your customers. This is personal, and you’re gonna keep it personal.”

The masked woman in the Hawaiian shirt snickered. “Is this because of their ATM fees?”

“Yes, Wheels, this is because of their fucking ATM fees. It’s barbaric.” He lowered his gun. “Kill the camera.”

The criminal in the red jacket lifted their gun and shot the camera down. The hostages flinched as it crashed to the floor, and Jeremy heard a few screams. The Kingpin sputtered. 

“Digitally, you idiot! I just wanted Golden Boy to turn it off again!”

The criminal lowered their gun, somehow pouting through the mask. “You said kill. I wanted to kill.”

The Kingpin sighed. “If that didn’t fucking record, I’ll riddle you with bullets.” 

With a wave of the Kingpin’s hand, three of the five criminals wordlessly melted off into the depths of the bank. Only the Kingpin himself and the man on the counter with the “lone wolf” jacket remained.

“Can I just say,” the Kingpin said brightly, facing the hostages, “you’re all being a great audience. You really know how to make a crime gang feel appreciated.”

The man was mere feet away. Close enough that Jeremy could see every deadly detail on his rifle, could almost read the tattoos on his hands. His heart thumped in his throat. Jeremy took a deep breath. 

“K-Kingpin?”

Through the hockey mask, the man’s gaze locked on Jeremy. His head slowly cocked to the side, as though perplexed to hear his name coming from one of the hostages. Everything that Jeremy had been about to say lodged in his throat as the man walked closer.

He hoped he hadn’t just made the biggest mistake of his life.

Slowly, the Kingpin knelt down, close enough to touch. Jeremy could hear the other hostages recoiling and shuffling further away. He didn’t move, breathing hard, keeping his gaze locked on the human eyes that he could see through the mask.

“What’s wrong, buddy?” the Kingpin breathed. The barrel of the assault rifle nudged under Jeremy’s chin, lifting it. “You need something?”

Jeremy’s hands were shaking against the floor. “I-I-I’m a huge fan!”

The rifle didn’t move. The Kingpin didn’t say a word. Behind the mask, Jeremy couldn’t read the man’s face.

“You guys are the most badass motherfuckers in the city, I follow all the police reports,” Jeremy rambled. “It’s a r-real honor to see you in action, sir. Really lives up to the hype. Can I get your autograph?”

The Kingpin laughed. It wasn’t harsh or cold or cruel. If it weren’t for the hockey mask and the gun resting against Jeremy’s neck, it would have been a friendly laugh, full of sunshine.

“Of course you can have my autograph!” he said brightly, lifting away the assault rifle. He slipped his hand into his pocket and pulled out a scarlet marker. “Where do you want it?”

Wordlessly, Jeremy held out his arm. The Kingpin was still chuckling to himself as he signed it. Jeremy’s skin tingled under the press of the marker. The ink was blood red on his skin, as though the word  _ Kingpin _ was being carved into him with a knife. 

“Hey.” The Kingpin flicked two fingers against his hockey mask, saluting as he stood. “Real nice to meet a fan on the heist. Keep your head down, yeah? I’ll be heartbroken if I gotta shoot you.”

Jeremy nodded. “Yeah, me too.”

Footsteps made Jeremy look up. The man in the golden mask pranced back into the lobby with a spring in his step. 

“Goods are loaded!” he announced brightly. 

The Kingpin glanced at his watch, then laughed. “How about that! Ten minutes! We’ll meet you in the getaway vehicle in just a—“

He froze, his head snapping towards the bank door. Faintly, Jeremy could hear it too. Sirens.

“…Well, that’s our cue.” The Kingpin turned to the man with the wolf jacket. “We good to go?”

The man with the wolf jacket was fidgeting with a beeping device. “All set, boss.”

The Kingpin glanced at the hostages. “See that bomb he’s holding? Don’t worry about it. Not gonna go off. We just wanna make the cops drop everything they’re doing to defuse it.” 

“Heh, yeah.” The other man’s laugh didn’t sound as comforting. He set the bomb down hard on the counter, and Jeremy flinched. “Perfectly harmless.”

The Kingpin gave one last look at the hostages — and, Jeremy swore, him especially — and saluted before slipping away.

Just like that, the Fakes were gone.

Jeremy could barely hear the cacophony as cops flooded into the bank. They spread out, guns raised, checking every corner. Jeremy knew they wouldn’t find anyone. The Fakes had disappeared like mist, like they did after every heist.

A cluster of cops surrounded the bomb, the rest rushing the hostages out of the building. Jeremy’s heart was still thumping like he’d gone down a rollercoaster as he stumbled out of the bank. His arm tingled under the word  _ Kingpin _ . He avoided eye contact with the cops so they wouldn’t see the wide, giddy smile on his face.

——

The robbery was all over the news that night. In his little apartment on the third floor, Jeremy watched the TV with rapt attention as news anchors struggled to keep their voices calm.

_ “— Another attack by the notorious Fake AH Crew. Although there were multiple security cameras online for the entire robbery, police are saying that all of the footage was missing or corrupted, except for one message.” _

The screen switched to a grainy feed, showing the Kingpin standing over a crowd of cowering hostages, pointing his gun at the camera. Jeremy laughed.

“Damn, the footage made it!”

_ “Officials from the bank have responded to the Kingpin’s message with encouragement that they would never let their customers suffer from this sort of event, and that no one’s accounts will be impacted by the robbery —“ _

“Smart move,” Jeremy told the TV.

_ “As of right now, police still have not apprehended a single member of the Fake AH Crew. This has been the Los Santos evening news.” _

Jeremy flopped back on the couch, unable to hold back a grin. His fingers danced over the blood-red signature on his arm where the Kingpin himself had signed it.

He still couldn’t believe he’d actually met them.

——

Going to work on Monday felt surreal.

The garage where Jeremy worked was just a few blocks away from his apartment, close enough to walk to. Everything was so normal, so unchanged. There were cars that needed oil changes, customers that needed to be checked in, endlessly messy tool boxes to organize. It was almost as though the world just expected him to get on with his life as normal, despite the absolutely life-changing thing he’d just lived through.

It wasn’t until an hour after Jeremy’s lunch break that something distracted him from his thoughts.

Jeremy was checking the antifreeze supply when a gorgeous car rolled up to the garage. Antifreeze forgotten, Jeremy strode into the lot to admire the car as it parked. Damn, that was an honest-to-god Tezeract, hot liquid blue with curves like a jet plane. It was an absolute tragedy to see the front left bumper crumpled from an obvious impact.

“Damn.” Jeremy paced around the car, shamelessly soaking in the view. “That’s a real beauty.”

The door opened. For the first time, Jeremy looked up at the driver. A woman with neck-length auburn hair was stepping out of the car, her eyes shielded by shimmering amber sunglasses. Her leather halter-top hugged her body, and before Jeremy could stop himself, his gaze roamed  _ all _ over her.

“R-real nice car,” he choked out.

She smiled, sweet and friendly, before slipping her sunglasses off. “Aww, thanks! Think you can fix it up?”

“Uh, lemme take a look.”

Jeremy pulled his gaze away from her, trying to focus on the car. What was wrong with him? Eyebanging customers? Fuck, that was unprofessional. Jeremy tried to pull himself together as he lifted the car’s hood. Thankfully, the sight below was more than enough distraction.

“Oh damn, this is lovely.” He took visual inventory of the powerful machinery, still warm from the drive. “You mod this yourself?”

“…Yes, I did, actually. Not everyone notices the mods.”

“Shit, I don’t think I’d have the balls to mod a fucking Tezeract. Uh, sorry about the language.”

“Hey, a good car is worth cursing about.”

“Sucks that you had an accident.” Jeremy leaned over the engine. “This is some damn art.”

“Oh, it wasn’t an accident.” The woman leaned against the car, watching him work. “I don’t have accidents when I’m driving. The other guy, though? Yeah, he did a real oopsie.”

“Well, he’s a damn criminal for hurting something this pretty.” Jeremy’s heart jumped at his own words. He shut the hood, hoping the woman didn’t notice his flushed cheeks. “Uh, anyway, we can probably get this fixed up within the week. If you’ll step into the lobby, they can get the paperwork done. I’m sure I don’t need to tell you this, but if we have to order parts, it’s gonna be pricey.”

The woman’s laugh was bright as she walked away. “Yeah, it’s a fucking Tezeract.”

Jeremy focused on the car so he wouldn’t be tempted to watch her swaying stride. The more he looked at the damage, the odder it seemed. The impact was mercifully isolated to the front left bumper, but the metal had crumpled like paper. The glossy paint seemed to be melted in the impact zone. Either the woman or the other driver must have been going twice the speed limit for damage like that. Jeremy couldn’t imagine how such a high-speed collision could result in anything less than a totaled car.

That woman must either have an angel watching over her, or the driving skills of a demon.

——

There was a shooting range not far from the garage where Jeremy worked. When his shift was over, he packed up his things and walked a few blocks down to fire some guns.

Shooting always calmed him. Whatever stresses or disappointments or anxieties the day had brought, none of it mattered to a gun. On the range, there was only the puzzle of physics, machinery, and the human body. Jeremy selected a pistol, donned a set of sound-muffling headgear, and slipped into a stall.

It was a good thing that shooting was so zen-like for him. The sound of gunfire, even muffled by the noise-canceling headphones, was bringing back a tingling memory of criminals in hockey masks.

The sensation of being watched made Jeremy’s spine prickle. He glanced through the plastic divider and realized that the lanky man in the stall next to him was watching his shots with clear admiration. The man caught his eye and gave him a bright smile and a thumbs-up as though to congratulate his efforts. He didn’t seem at all ashamed to have been caught watching. Jeremy gave the man an awkward wave and the best smile he could manage, not sure how to react to an audience.

Silently, the man held out the gun that he’d been shooting with, grip first. It was a clear offer for Jeremy to try it. Jeremy paused. He didn’t recognize the model. 

The man wiggled the gun insistently.

Jeremy took it, turning it over in his hands, keeping the barrel pointed away from his body. Something about the weight of it felt dangerous. 

The man gave him an encouraging thumbs-up. Jeremy turned his sights to the target, held his breath, and squeezed the trigger.

The kickback thumped all the way up his arm and the gun jolted up.

His shot had gone way high. Jeremy let out an impressed breath, looking at his shot, then at the gun. He wasn’t expecting something that small to pack that much of a punch.

The man next to him waved his hand in a quick loop that seemed to say “try again.” Jeremy took a deep breath, two hands firm on the gun. He’d need to brace himself a lot more.

He squeezed the trigger, and again the gun jolted like a thunderclap, but this time he held it steady. The bullet went right where he wanted, like the light from a laser pointer. Jeremy lowered the gun in awe, staring at his bullet hole.

Muffled by his headphones, Jeremy could faintly hear clapping. The man beside him was beaming from ear to ear, applauding the shot with what seemed to be genuine enthusiasm. Jeremy gave him a shy thumbs-up and handed the gun back.

If Jeremy had thought to look at the other man’s target, he would have seen an odd clustering of shots. Rather than aiming for the bullseye, the man seemed to have drawn a strikingly precise heart with his bullet holes, right over the target’s chest.

——

After leaving the shooting range, Jeremy grabbed a fat, juicy burger from his favorite street stand. He wolfed it down as he walked a few blocks over. The shooting range closed at six, but the gym stayed open late. And the gym had a boxing ring. 

Jeremy spent some time with the weights, then switched to a punching bag, but he never took his eye off the ring. The gym was pretty quiet tonight, but he wasn’t about to give up on getting a few fights with a willing partner.

Someone whistled. Jeremy looked up from the punching bag, catching his breath. A man in a tank top was setting down a pair of weights, looking at him with a smile.

“You throw a mean punch,” the man said.

Jeremy wiped sweat off his forehead, picking up his water bottle. “Thanks, man. You fight?”

“Ha, every chance I get.”

The water was blissfully cool. Jeremy took a long, long swig before speaking again. “Wanna go a few rounds? The ring’s open.”

“Fuck yeah, I wanna feel that punch firsthand. What’s your name?”

“Jeremy.”

“Nah, I don’t mean your name out here.” The stranger pointed at the boxing ring. “What’s your name in there? You got one?”

Jeremy paused with the water bottle halfway to his lips. He’d always had one, privately, though no one had ever asked for it. It felt odd to say the name out loud.

“Rimmy Tim.”

The man laughed. “All right. What’s the story there?”

“Not the one you think.”

“Shame.”

“I’m sorry, what?”

The man ignored him, slipping between the ropes and stepping into the ring. “Go a few rounds with me, yeah?”

When someone offered a free fight, Jeremy wasn’t the type to turn it down. He dropped his water bottle on the bench and hopped into the ring.

——

There was a flow to fighting. It was a world that Jeremy could get lost in. Minutes ticked by, punctuated only by thumps and grunts that echoed in the nearly-empty gym.

Jeremy didn’t realize how exhausted and bruised he was until they both lowered their fists.

“Damn!” The stranger was smiling wide, his breath heavy. “You’re fun! I’m gonna feel that one in my jaw for a while.”

Jeremy returned the man’s smile. “Thanks! I’m gonna feel the one you got in my ribs.”

“Yeah, sorry about that. I got excited.”

“Don’t be sorry, man, it was a fucking fight.”

The stranger wiped sweat off his brow. “Wish I could do a few more rounds, but I’ve gotta head out.” He stepped between the ropes and slipped out of the ring. “Thanks for the fights. Work on your low blocks, that’s where I was getting you the most. Just because you’re short doesn’t mean people won’t go under your guard.”

“Hey!” Jeremy called after him, leaning on the ropes. “What’s your name?”

The man flicked his hand dismissively, not turning around or breaking his stride. “I’ll tell you later.”

“What?”

The man slipped out of the gym. Jeremy frowned, but the need to hydrate demanded his attention too aggressively for him to ponder what the man meant.

——

By the time Jeremy got home to his apartment, it was well past dark. He locked the door, kicked his shoes off, and took a long hot shower. There was nothing quite like rinsing off all the sweat and engine grease from the day’s work, even if it meant he finally had to wash off the blurred red “Kingpin” on his arm.

With a bag of potato chips and a freshly-opened beer, Jeremy flopped on the ratty couch in front of his TV. Time for some well-deserved video game time before bed.

As the console was booting up, someone knocked on Jeremy’s door. He blinked, not registering the noise for a moment. He wasn’t expecting anyone. Did he order pizza before the shower and completely forget about it? 

Frowning, Jeremy left his beer and potato chips by the couch and opened his apartment door.

A scruffy-faced man that Jeremy didn’t recognize stood outside. His bare arms were covered in tattoos, and a pair of sunglasses hung from the collar of his faded beachy t-shirt.

“Jeremy Dooley,” said the man. “Nice to see you again.”

Jeremy’s eyes narrowed. “Uh. Have we met?”

“Oh, sorry.” The man lifted something from behind his back. “Let me jog your memory.”

A pale hockey mask with a venom-green star slipped over the man’s smiling face. Jeremy’s heart dropped into his stomach. He could almost feel the ghost of an assault rifle lifting his chin as the man let out a slow breath through the mask. 

“F-f-fuck,” Jeremy croaked.

The Kingpin lowered his mask. “You wanna invite me in?”

Numbly, Jeremy opened the door wider. With a grateful nod, the Kingpin stepped inside. Jeremy’s hands were shaking as he closed the door.

“I-I didn’t tell the police anything,” Jeremy stammered. “I wasn’t lying in the bank, I really am a big fan. I don’t wanna see you guys get caught.”

“Oh, we know. We’ve been stalking the shit out of you.” The Kingpin wandered around Jeremy’s apartment, his gaze drifting from one thing to the next. “I’m not here to rough you up, I’m here to see if you’re looking for a job.”

“A… a what?”

The Kingpin stopped in front of Jeremy’s open bedroom door. Clearly visible on the far wall, right above Jeremy’s bed, was his favorite poster of the Wildcat. The one with dramatic lighting and explosions in the background and a great view of the Wildcat’s ass.

The Kingpin cocked his head at the poster. “Damn. When you said you were a big fan, you weren’t kidding, huh?” 

“Uh.” Jeremy’s face went red. “I can explain.”

“Oh, can you?”

“Look, I couldn’t  _ find _ a sexy Kingpin poster, okay? I looked. If I could find one, it would be up on the wall next to the Wildcat.”

That pulled the Kingpin’s gaze back to him. After a few surprised blinks, the man laughed. It really was a bright, friendly laugh when there were no masks or guns involved.

“I’ll buy you one,” he chuckled. He cast another thoughtful look at the flashy poster. “I’m curious: what is it you like about the Wildcat?”

“U-uh—” The Kingpin’s tone was casual, but the words felt like a test. Several panicked lies jumped to Jeremy’s tongue before he decided on the truth. “Kinda fifty percent their badassery and fifty percent their… assery.”

“Their?”

“That’s… that’s right, isn’t it?”

The Kingpin continued to smile. Jeremy continued to not be dead. The silence stretched out for several more seconds before Jeremy swallowed and ventured a question of his own. 

“What did you mean by a job?”

“Like I said, the Fakes have been watching you. You’re an interesting man, Dooley. You know your way around guns, you know your way around cars, and you punch like a battering ram.” The Kingpin chuckled again. “And you’ve got balls. You proved that in the bank. The crew likes you, they wanna meet you.”

“M—“ Jeremy’s throat went dry. “ _ Meet _ me?”

The Kingpin slipped a phone out of his pocket and tossed it. Jeremy barely caught it.

“There’s a number in the contacts. Just one.” The Kingpin slipped his hands into his pockets. “If you’re in, call it.”

“I-I’m in!” Jeremy insisted. “I’m in right now!”

“Easy there, hotshot. Sleep on it, think it over. Don’t get me wrong, I like the enthusiasm, but you’re about to make a pretty big decision.” His smile faded into something more somber. “You realize what I’m offering you, right? I’m not jerking you around just to see you blush, I’m dead serious. Me and the crew wanna know if you’re Fake material. If you’re really in, this is gonna change your life.”

Each heartbeat thumped in Jeremy’s throat. He clutched the phone to his chest as though it was a lump of solid gold. He was afraid to speak, to break the spell, but the Kingpin was giving him a stern look that demanded a response.

“I-I understand,” he managed.

“Good boy.” With that, the Kingpin turned and strode to the door. “I don’t think I have to tell you not to contact the police.”

“No sir!”

“Good. We’ll know if you do.”

“I’m real glad you didn’t come here to kill me,” Jeremy blurted. “I guess I should’ve known better. I mean, you’re the big boss, I bet you don’t personally hunt down every snitch, huh?”

The Kingpin’s smile was cold. “Oh no. That’s exactly the kind of thing I’d do.” He slipped the sunglasses off his shirt collar and flicked them on. “I’ll see you around, Jeremy Dooley. Whether or not you see me around is up to you.”

The door closed. Jeremy was left alone with a cell phone and the biggest decision of his life.

——

He didn’t end up playing any video games that night. He finished his beer while staring out his window at the dark cityscape of Los Santos. The city that the Fakes all but owned.

He fell asleep late, but was too excited to sleep in past the sunrise. Dawn found him sitting on his ratty couch, not getting ready for work, just staring at the cell phone.

Sure enough, there was one name in the contacts:

_ Be Certain _

Jeremy swallowed. His finger hovered over the number, not daring to dial.

If he joined the Fakes, would they let him live here in his apartment, or would he have to move to some secret crime base? He didn’t have a strong emotional attachment to this place, but moving would be a big change. He’d certainly have to quit his job. Even if the Fakes didn’t ask him to, he didn’t think he could just continue working as normal and not tell his employer that he was a felon in his time off.

For that matter… he probably wouldn’t be able to make normal work hours if he was expected to do shit like rob banks.

Jeremy chewed his lip, staring at the glowing phone screen. To join the Fakes, he’d have to be a wanted criminal. He’d have to break the law. He’d have to steal, run from the cops, blow things up. He might have to kill people. For all his time on the shooting range, he’d never pointed a gun at a living person. At the end of the day, it was a life that probably meant dying young, assuming the cops couldn’t take him alive to throw him in a cold cell.

Jeremy found his gaze wandering to his forearm where the word Kingpin had been signed in red pen. Maybe… maybe it would be better to just be a fan. He could watch the Fakes on the news and romanticize their exploits from the safety of his normal life. He could go back to his normal job and his shallow simulations of violence, never knowing what the real thing was like. He could fantasize about adventure, and never really have one.

God, being a hostage in that bank robbery had been the most exciting moment of his life.

Jeremy took a breath and tapped the contact. The phone started buzzing. Jeremy’s hand was steady as he lifted the phone to his ear, but he could hear his own breath.

The phone beeped, as though someone had answered, but there was no voice. Jeremy took a deep breath.

“I’m in.”

He heard a soft chuckle.  _ “See you soon, Dooley.” _

The call ended.

——

Jeremy didn’t get ready for work. He paced around his apartment in tense anticipation until the sound of a knock on the door almost stopped his heart. He rushed to the door and flung it open so hard and fast that he almost hit himself in the face. 

“Kingpin, I—“

The person leaning on Jeremy’s doorframe was not the Kingpin. Jeremy’s voice choked off. Eyes as wild as a lion’s were locked on him through the holes of a hockey mask. The Wildcat’s jacket was the same blood-red as their hair, and it was unzipped, showing that all they wore underneath was a miraculously-white bra. 

Jeremy recognized that outfit from the news. He recognized it from the poster above his bed, too.

“…O-oh.” Jeremy swallowed hard. “F-fuck.”

Behind the mask, the Wildcat snickered. Their voice simmered in his belly and tickled his spine. “Hi, new kid. Kingpin said you might enjoy it if I was the one who picked you up.”

“Fuck,” Jeremy whined again. “D-did he tell you about the poster?”

“Yep.”

“ _ Fuck _ .”

“I’m flattered, by the way. He said it was the really booty-centric design. You’ve got good taste, huh?”

Jeremy slowly buried his face in his hand. “F-f- _ fuck.”  _

The Wildcat laughed. “As much fun as this is, the crew’s waiting. You ready?”

“Y-yeah, I mean—“ Jeremy tried to collect himself. “Should I, like— get my things?”

“Nah, you’re not moving in yet. You’re just meeting the crew.” The Wildcat slipped a hand over their mask. “Why don’t you start with me?”

They pulled the mask off. The face that looked down at Jeremy was unnervingly normal and human. Their eyebrows were pursed, amused but friendly. It was a sweeter, gentler face than Jeremy expected.

“H-hi,” Jeremy stammered, his cheeks flushing.

The Wildcat snickered again. “God, you’re adorable.” Their voice sounded different when it wasn’t coming through a mask. They stepped out of the doorway. “Come on. I’ll drive you to HQ.”

——

In the morning sunlight, the streets of Los Santos were stirring to life. The Wildcat strolled down the sidewalk in full view. Before leaving Jeremy’s apartment, they had pulled on a t-shirt and taken off the red jacket, tying it around their waist instead. Despite the ruby-red hair, no one gave them a second glance.

Jeremy followed in awe. The Wildcat was acting casual, but he couldn’t stop glancing around. “Aren’t you worried someone will recognize you?” he whispered.

The Wildcat gave his arm a good-natured slap, making him jump. “Recognize what? I’m just a civilian on a stroll with my  _ incredibly _ twitchy friend.”

“Yeah, but… the hair is kinda…”

“Oh, only the most  _ dedicated _ Wildcat fans dye their hair this color.” They shot Jeremy a toothy smile that made his stomach do flips. “And I’m a huge Wildcat fan. Think they’ll notice me?”

Jeremy’s mouth had gone dry. “I-it sure would be cool to get noticed by the Wildcat.” 

“Have I said that you’re cute? You’re damn cute.” 

“I dyed my hair red once, you know.” 

“Did you? Well shit, I’ll tell the Wildcat.” 

They stopped in front of a sleek red car. The Wildcat opened the passenger’s door, gesturing politely inside. “After you, m’lord… or m’lady? M’them? I guess I never asked.”

“O-oh, uh…” The question took Jeremy by surprise. “I-I guess, I’ve been a dude my whole life, so…” He looked at the car, then at the Wildcat. “G-god damn it,” he groaned, slipping into the passenger’s seat. “This is so dumb. I’m so dumb.”

The Wildcat snickered. “Of course you are. We only hire idiots.”

The door shut with a thump of finality. The inside smelled like leather, cinnamon, and faintly, blood. Instinctively, Jeremy twisted around to look in the backseat, as though expecting to see bags of cash, or a dead body. Nothing but more well-kept leather seats.

The Wildcat slipped into the driver’s side, shut the door, and held out a strip of black fabric. “No offense, but this ride has a dress code.”

Jeremy blinked as he took the fabric. It was soft, dark, about two feet long. It took him a moment to realize it was a blindfold. 

“O-oh. Shit. Yeah, that makes sense.”

The blindfold pressed over his eyes and the world disappeared. He could feel the rumble of the car starting as he tied it behind his head. Jeremy’s heart thumped. It was hard not to linger on the resemblance this bore to a willing kidnapping.

The Wildcat laughed as they put the car in gear. “Geoff wasn’t kidding when he said you had balls.”

Jeremy frowned in the darkness. “Uh… who’s Geoff?”

The car lurched forward, speeding down the road and throwing Jeremy back in his seat.

“Just a good friend.”

“Is that—“ Jeremy blindly gripped the side of the car. “Holy shit, is the Kingpin’s real name  _ Geoff _ ?”

“Or Geoffers, if you wanna really tickle him.”

“That’s— jesus.”

“No, that’s Geoff.”

Jeremy frowned in the darkness as the car zoomed down the street. “…So the Wildcat’s a smartass. Got it.”

“You know…” The Wildcat’s voice had a slow purr that made Jeremy’s spine prickle. “We’re alone, I’m armed, you’re blindfolded… This seems like a great time for me to get to know you.” 

Jeremy swallowed. “G-get to know me?”

“The rest of the crew likes you, and I trust them, but I want to see for myself. Everyone else got one-on-one time. All I got to do was watch you eat a burger.”

“What do you mean, everyone else got—“ Jeremy stiffened. “Shit, you watched me eat  _ dinner _ ?”

“Yeah, there’s an alley next to the burger stand. I like to lurk.”

“You really come by your big cat vibes honestly, huh?”

“And  _ you _ can really put some food away. I respect that.”

“Hey, don’t shame me.”

“No shame here, I respect it.”

Jeremy hesitated. When he spoke, it was tentative. “…You cook?”

“Mostly I bake. Why?”

“Nothing, just sounded like you enjoy good food. I wouldn’t mind learning to bake.”

“Mm.” For a moment, the Wildcat was quiet. “My name’s Lindsay.”

“Lindsay?”

“You sound surprised.”

“No, I mean…” Jeremy hesitated. “Shit. I don’t know why it’s so weird to me that you guys have real names.”

“Wildcat  _ is _ a real name. It’s just not my only one.”

Jeremy swallowed. “Sorry, I didn’t… fuck. I really don’t know anything about you guys.”

For a moment, the Wildcat was quiet. When they spoke, their voice was thoughtful.

“When you were staring at the phone we gave you, thinking about whether or not to call... what made you decide to do it? Why’d you take the jump?”

“Because…” Jeremy bit his lip. He fidgeted with the leather seat, searching for words as the car rumbled and bumped under him. At last, he settled on the truth. “Because everything about it thrilled me. Because I’d regret it for the rest of my life if I didn’t try.”

For a moment, the Wildcat was quiet, only the hum of the car filling the silence. When they spoke again, there was warmth in their voice.

“I’m glad we got to talk, Jeremy Dooley.” The car took a sharp turn. “Sit tight, we’re almost there.”

——

Eventually, the car rolled to a stop and the engine cut off. Jeremy’s heart hadn’t stopped pounding. The blackness of the blindfold and the swaying of the car had settled in as a deep disorientation.

“Wait right there,” said the Wildcat. The driver’s door opened, then closed. A few moments later, Jeremy heard the passenger door open.

“Can I take the blindfold off yet?” Jeremy begged.

“You’d better not.”

“Are we still somewhere secret, or are you just fucking with me?”

“I’m fucking with you. Comes with the territory. Now leave it on.”

With a grumble, Jeremy groped for the edge of the door, pulling himself out of the car on shaky legs. A firm hand gripped his shoulder. Jeremy froze, his heart pounding.

“Easy buddy, I’ve got you.” It was incredible how the same voice that gave Jeremy chills could sound so gentle. “Right this way.”

Guided by the Wildcat’s hand, Jeremy stumbled across something that felt like bricks. He followed in silence, giddy with the knowledge that he was really in the headquarters of the Fake AH Crew, about to meet them face to face.

Or… maybe about to be shot in the back and left in an unmarked grave. But this seemed like an awful lot of trouble to go through for something like that.

“S-so, uh…” Jeremy swallowed. “How much further?”

In response, the Wildcat pulled him to a halt and started undoing his blindfold. The fabric fell away, and Jeremy blinked in the morning sun.

He was standing on a lavish patio beside a pool and an outdoor mini-bar. Before him stood the Fake AH Crew, and Jeremy was stunned to realize he’d seen every face before.

The woman that he’d met at the garage was leaning on the mini-bar, wearing the trademark shorts and Hawiian shirt of the infamous getaway driver, Wheels. The slim man from the shooting range was sprawled on a lounge chair, his navy suit cutting a sharp contrast to the gold jewelry and sunglasses he wore; only fitting for the Golden Boy. Leaning on the back of his chair was a man in a brown leather jacket, and even though Jeremy couldn’t see the back of it, he knew it bore the words “lone wolf.”

The man gave him a wave. “Hey, back at the gym I promised to tell you my name. It’s fuckin’ Mogar.”

“…Oh.” Jeremy’s palms felt sweaty. His gaze found the Kingpin, leaning on the bar next to Wheels, back in his immaculately cut suit. “Wh-when you said you were stalking the shit out of me, you weren’t fucking around.”

“Oh, we spend a lot of time fucking around,” the Kingpin insisted. “But not for something this important.”

Wheels gave the Wildcat a nod. “What do you think of him?”

“I like him!” The Wildcat strolled past Jeremy, leaving him alone with all eyes on him. “He can stick around. I think I owe him some cookies.”

“Then it’s unanimous.” The Kingpin’s smile grew. “So, you wanna help the Fakes run a heist or two… Rimmy Tim?”


End file.
